


it's raining, it's pouring, i picture you in the morning

by coffeerac



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Morning After, Mornings, Nightmares, The Barns, and they are very happy and cute, post-trk, ronan and adam are Very Soft and Very In Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7823584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeerac/pseuds/coffeerac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trio of early mornings at the Barns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's raining, it's pouring, i picture you in the morning

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting here on AO3, though I'm no stranger to the Pynch tag on here. 
> 
> Title is from "Holy Ghost" by Børns.

Mornings at the Barns were this: golden light streaming through Ronan’s thin curtains, the smell of wood and sugar and something distinctly _Lynch_ enveloping Adam as he lie enveloped in the plush white duvet, Ronan’s legs entwined with his own. It was hearing Opal, already up and about, laughing as she chased the sheep outside, and it was the soft popping of Adam’s joints as he stretched against the slumbering boy next to him.

Mornings at the Barns were this: peace he never thought he could have with a beautiful boy he never thought would love him, gentle touches and sleepy smiles and _home_.

 

\---

 

The first month, Adam woke to Ronan gasping beside him.

His eyes snapped open, registering darkness, the sheets kicked off his legs. His head was pillowed next to Ronan’s hip, thrown off his chest when he sat up. The sight of Ronan, shaking, quietly gasping, arms wrapped around himself, face a picture of pain and fear, made Adam shoot upright next to him.

“Ronan?” His whisper was nothing more than a broken breath. Adam glanced at the clock. 2:21 A.M.

“Ronan,” he whispered again when Ronan did nothing, hand moving coming up to the crossroads of Ronan’s arms over his own chest. “What is it?”

He looked at Adam, and the wetness of his eyes made Adam’s heart break into a million pieces. Ronan untangled his arms in favor of wrapping his hands around Adam’s, collapsing forward and resting their foreheads together in one movement. Ronan squeezed his eyes shut, and a single tear leaked out onto his cheek, quickly wiped away by Adam’s thumb.

“Ronan,” Adam murmured again. That was apparently it for Ronan, the last straw, all he could bear, because he fell apart against Adam, burying his face in the side of his neck as Adam’s arms came to encircle his waist and pull him close, letting Ronan sob harshly against him. His whole frame shook, and Adam could feel his shirt dampening.

“I—I can’t—” Ronan gasped out desperately, unable to control his words over his tears. Adam gently pulled his head back to his shoulder and kissed Ronan’s temple over and over as the sobs slowed.

Here was this boy, this sharp, wicked, beautiful boy, coming apart in Adam Parrish’s arms. Ronan, who was one of the strongest people Adam knew. Ronan, who had seen more dead bodies in his life than any man should have to—his hard-edged father, his soft mother, his brave, reliable best friend, his partner in crime who was never even alive. His own dead body, once, lying bloody and broken in the sacred place where he was supposed to feel safest. Over and over, Ronan had seen the people around him die. Over and over, the count of people he loved who were dead threatened to trump people he loved who were alive. Over and over, he had cried over corpses until there was nothing left but raw, black emptiness.

“Adam.” Ronan eventually shuddered out a broken sigh against Adam’s neck. Adam tightened his grip around Ronan’s torso, pressed a firm kiss to his temple, and in response Ronan buried his face even deeper into Adam’s neck.

“It’s okay,” Adam whispered. “You’re okay.”

Ronan pulled back just enough to see Adam’s face. His eyes flickered back and forth, searching so intensely that Adam almost felt the need to duck his head.

“And you’re okay,” Ronan said, though it came out more like a question than a statement, half-sounding like he needed to convince himself of the fact.

Adam kissed the tip of his nose. “And I’m okay,” he confirmed.

Ronan considered this, then pulled Adam back down and pushed himself close next to him, so both their heads were on one pillow, Ronan’s head tucked beneath Adam’s chin.

“Okay,” Ronan whispered. “Okay.”

Adam wrapped his arms tightly around Ronan and kissed the top of his head; Ronan kissed his collarbone in response.

They would both be okay.

 

\---

 

The fourth month, Adam woke up to an impossibly sweet smell surrounding him, his eyelids burning orange with the force of the bright sun outside.

Ronan refused to put real curtains in his bedroom at the Barns, because he woke up with the sun. What this meant for him was getting up at around 5 in the morning and starting his routine chores, making coffee and waffles for himself and Adam and cooking strips of tree bark alongside strips of bacon with a side of Cap’n Crunch for Opal. What this meant for Adam was being slowly coaxed awake by the soft brightness of the room, the sun extending its haloed fingertips to Ronan’s bed— _their_ bed—and casting them in a hazy, sweet light.

He blinked his eyes open to find Ronan still asleep next to him, cheek pressed to the pillow and a small smile on his sharp face. Ronan was lying on his stomach, and Adam got a full view of his tattoo before it disappeared beneath the white sheet slung loosely around his waist.

Adam’s eyes trailed down, and then he saw it. Or, _them_. Hundreds upon hundreds of rose petals, red and pink and white, covering their bed, scattered across the sheets and the pillows and Ronan’s shoulders and Adam’s stomach. They littered every surface of the mattress, some even tumbling down to the floor. The whole scene was draped in a sleepy, content glow; Adam, for a moment, thought it might be a dream. But no—no, last night was not a dream.

He shifted closer to Ronan, almost brushing their noses together, not quite wanting to wake him just yet, but also feeling a ridiculous sense of missing Ronan even as he slept not six inches away from him. So he began trailing kisses, feather-light and wittingly gentle, up Ronan’s jaw, until he felt the other boy slip from the embrace of slumber beneath him.

Adam pulled back to look at Ronan. Ronan smiled a tiny smile, brushing his fingertips across Adam’s cheekbone. “Good morning,” he murmured.

Adam could not stop his own grin, nor could he help turning his cheek into Ronan’s hand and kissing his palm, at which Ronan’s smile grew wider.

“It is,” he agreed.

It was then that Ronan let his gaze stray from Adam’s face; first down his neck, his chest, his stomach, and then the bed. Adam watched as Ronan’s eyes widened comically and a light blush dusted his cheeks.

“Did I—I mean, this was—” Ronan stumbled over his words.

Adam leaned his face in close enough that he saw Ronan’s pupils dilate, and then he said in a low voice, “So I was that good, was I?”

He was met with Ronan’s bright, ringing, surprised laughter in his face. Ronan reached up a hand to shove Adam’s shoulder, but Adam caught it and pushed Ronan back. They scuffled for a few seconds, and then Ronan was on top of Adam, hiding his face in his neck.

“Yeah,” Ronan finally said. “You were.”

 

\---

 

The nineteenth month, Adam woke up minutes before dawn.

Ronan would not be awake for at least a half hour—Adam wanted to let him sleep, so he slipped out of bed soundlessly, stealing a thick blanket from the linen closet to wrap around himself in lieu of clothing before padding downstairs and out the main door of the house.

He went around to one of the smaller barns and climbed the ladder to the roof to watch the sunrise. After over a year, he still had to convince himself sometimes that his being at the Barns was not a dream, though at times like this, it certainly felt like one.

It seemed like the entire sky was the east; the sun did not rise and set where it was told to, not at the Barns. This was not a kingdom for rules or science, the territory that Adam had once been so used to, so intent on staying in. Here, the sun spanned all of space, casting a gradient of soft pink and orange light across the canvas. It was not warm outside yet, but wrapped in a blanket that smelled so strongly of Ronan, Adam felt like he was sitting in front of a fireplace. He was still learning all the different ways the Barns, Ronan could make him feel; there were times when it felt like fireworks were going off in his veins, and there were times when he felt like he encompassed every constellation in the sky just beneath his skin. Right now was the latter feeling.

He had asked Ronan once, long ago, if Niall Lynch had dreamt the sky at the Barns.

Ronan had looked at him for a long time, and then said, “I used to ask myself the same thing,” and that was that.

Now, Adam knew Niall did not dream the sky. If it was, in fact, a dream, it was the dream of the middle Lynch son. Niall dealt in trickery and cheating, a smoke and mirrors game of magic, a shadowed black waltz in which he led and the rest of the world followed.

Ronan, on the other hand, dreamt things like this. He dreamt angelic little brothers and fiercely loving little girls, and baby birds and hand cream and Epi-Pens and things that serve to help his loved ones, not hurt them. His dreams were those of all things light and tender and joyful, things that grew like flowers in his mind until he tore them free.

Adam lightly rubbed the ring on his left hand, unused to the weight, but welcoming the image of his hands, once dirty and filthy and covered with Henrietta rot, now crowned with something beautiful Ronan Lynch dreamt for _him,_ dreamt because he loved him and wanted to be with him and—

Without permission, Adam’s eyes fluttered shut and his mind filled with memories of the previous night, playing out like a film in his head. There was Ronan, laughing through the night, smiling and pressing his nose into Adam’s cheek, counting his freckles one by one with his fingertip and following with his lips. There was Adam, the happiest he could ever remember being, for no reason at all other than that he was _here_ , here with Ronan and here at the Barns and here in his life, happy and on his way to a bright future.

There was Ronan, looking nervous all night until he finally cleared his throat and said, _Adam_ , _I have something I need to say_ . There was Ronan, blushing and stammering all through his speech, his voice rough with something Adam couldn’t place, but never once breaking eye contact as he told Adam how much he loved him, how long he had loved him, the words, _You make me so happy, I can’t—God, Adam, I can’t even put it into words, I’m—I can’t believe it still, sometimes, that this, that_ you _, that I could even be this happy and safe and—and_ loved.

And then there was Ronan pulling out a ring, Adam’s mouth forming an _O_ , Ronan saying sheepishly, “I dreamt it, like, less than a month after we started going out. Not. . . not on purpose, but I’ve been hanging on to it since then.”

There were the tears leaking out of Adam’s eyes and down his cheeks until they were caught by Ronan’s thumbs, Ronan’s hopeful, shy question, and then Adam’s breathy _“yes”_ . And then, at last, it was everything at once: Ronan pushing the ring onto his finger with trembling hands, Ronan clutching the sides of Adam’s face like a lifeline and dragging him in for a kiss, Ronan’s tear-filled laugh quiet against Adam’s temple, but still the happiest Adam had ever heard it. Ronan kissing across Adam’s forehead, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, everywhere he could reach, dotting each kiss with an _I love you, I love you, I love you_. There was Ronan, and there was Adam, and there was the both of them together.

Now, Adam’s eyes opened as he felt arms slide around his waist through the plush blanket, a chest press against his back, a chin coming to rest on his shoulder.

“I didn’t hear you come up,” he said.

Ronan hummed in reply, pressing kisses under Adam’s ear.

“Did I wake you?” Adam asked.

“Didn’t really sleep,” Ronan replied. “Didn’t need to, when being awake is better.”

At this, Adam had to bite his lip to keep from his face splitting into a grin. He relaxed into Ronan’s arms, and Ronan held him tighter in response.

“Ronan,” he breathed, and Ronan’s arms slipped from around him. Before Adam had time to react, Ronan was in front of him. Adam moved his arms so the blanket hung open in the front, an invitation for Ronan to join him underneath it. Ronan wound his arms around the shorter boy’s waist properly now, skin to skin, tilting his head down so his forehead came to rest against Adam’s.

“Adam,” Ronan whispered back, his eyes shut.

Adam brought his hand up to trace Ronan’s lips; Ronan opened his eyes as he kissed Adam’s fingertip, then nuzzled his face into the crook of Adam’s neck.

“Mm.” The sigh against Adam’s skin was filled with joy, filled with relief, filled with love. “Adam,” Ronan said again, quieter this time. “I can’t wait to marry you.” This last part, murmured and laced with awe, made Adam curl his toes and let the grin have it’s way, spreading across his face so wide that his cheeks hurt.

He laughed for no other reason than because he was happy, kissed Ronan’s temple once, twice, three times until Ronan lifted his head from it’s place against Adam’s shoulder and looked at him with delight.

“We’re getting _married_ ,” Adam told Ronan, his voice tinged with disbelief. His eyes threatened to spill tears again in a rerun of the previous night, and he blinked them away, which only made Ronan smile.

“Yeah, no shit, Einstein.” Ronan’s tone gave away easily that he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

Adam laughed again, which made Ronan laugh, and it felt good, so good, because they were on a roof and the sun was not only rising around them but rising _for_ them, because they were in love and happy and for fuck’s sake, they were getting _married_.

And so the sun climbed to its perch in the sky as it would any other day, if only to watch them, the two boys helplessly in love with one another, bursting with laughter and radiance, holding each other so damn tightly because it hadn’t sunk in, not yet, not really, that they’re going to have the rest of their lives to do just that.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, leave a comment and let me know what you thought! find me on twitter @greywarens and tumblr @pynchs :-)


End file.
